Mike Anthony: Driving through Connecticut brings images of new realities and thoughts of when we might again recognize the world

It was around 2 p.m., a time when traffic would typically begin choking the streets of our state capital, as I drove casually along Trumbull Street and then Church, toward Bushnell Park. Downtown Hartford on a weekday afternoon never felt so eerie and, in a way, peaceful.

Past Union Station, across Asylum and onto Ford, the Soldiers and Sailors Memorial Arch in front of me. A motorcyclist in my rearview stopped, feet to pavement, as I prepared to turn left at Pearl.

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When the light went green, the motorcycle veered and zipped by as if out of a sling shot — such needless urgency, I thought, especially with another red light already visible up ahead at Ann Uccello.

Silly me. This person blew right through that, leaving the whine of the bike’s engine to echo through an empty city, accelerating into the distance of a world that, in this particular snapshot, was essentially lawless and deserted.

And on the radio there was something about experimental coronavirus drugs, about a rise in infections, about skyrocketing unemployment numbers.

What is going to become of the world? When will life look normal again? When something is taken apart — and virtually everything has been taken apart — there is no easy and abrupt return to what was. So much about ourselves and our lives and our surroundings will have be rebuilt in creative and resourceful ways over time and everything from simple behavior to entire ways of operating will have changed forever.

Businesses have been lost, dreams dashed, and the potential for damage that those realities hold is certainly real and increasingly dangerous. The nation’s economic engine is barely at an idle. The death toll is already three times higher than that of 9/11, and the projections are frightening. Life for years to come — in ways small and large, affecting all of us differently — will suffer from the wide-reaching destruction of this pandemic.

Have you been outside lately? Really out and about, I mean? I walk my Windsor neighborhood every day, seeing passersby pivot to avoid one another, social distancing done right. On one driveway, written in chalk: STAY SAFE.

But what about the rest of Connecticut? I’ve spent my professional life zigzagging the state for athletic events here, press conferences there. And three weeks of psychological monotony into a COVID-19 self-quarantine, I felt the need for the small freedom of exploration. This was, so to speak, taking a towel to the window through which life is actually visible and wiping an area clean for a close look at a world that will have to reinvent itself.

And on the radio there was news that cardiac arrest patients in New York should not be taken to a hospital, about a shortage of medical supplies.

The playscape in Bushnell Park was taped off. There was ample parking all along Main Street. Nearly all businesses were closed, of course. The 84/91 interchange has never been more navigable. The Shoppes at Buckland Hills parking lots were empty save for a few cars cutting through or headed to nearby Walmart which, like most stores offering groceries, was busy, people coming and going, some wearing masks.

Bradley International Airport was at a virtual standstill. State police SUVs lined up, lights flashing, not a single passenger in sight during drives through the arrival and departure areas.

A U.S. flag was in the breeze above the Connecticut State Capitol on the day Governor Ned Lamont ordered workers at nonessential businesses to stay home during the COVID-19 outbreak. (Mark Mirko/Mark Mirko)

Up at UConn, at a time of year when campus is usually so vibrant, there might as well have been tumbleweeds. Where Hillside Road meets Jim Calhoun Way in front of Gampel Pavilion, usually swarmed with pedestrian traffic and the busiest intersection on campus, there was nothing, nobody. A man sat alone on a bench overlooking Mirror Lake.

And on the radio there was news that an infant in Connecticut had become the youngest to die from COVID-19.

I let my mind wander as I drove our state’s roads last week, seeing pockets of crowds, some in an impossible spot, others still too stubborn to separate even where there is opportunity. Everywhere we look through this socioeconomic lens, essential workers trapped and everyday people performing essential tasks. It’s all ironic in one way, depressing in another.

A woman places groceries in the trunk of a cab and gets in the back seat. Buses come and go, largely empty but still some passengers. I’m so fortunate not to rely on public transportation. I’m so thankful to all those grocery store clerks and workers rounding up carts, touching everything that everyone else touches because they have to, because this is the job and this is life right now. Faces not covered by masks wear expressions of discomfort.

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And on the radio there was something about Georgia Gov. Brian Kemp learning just recently that coronavirus could be spread by those not showing symptoms.

Richmond, RI. - 04/01/2020 - Rhode Island National Guard military police officers interview an out-of-state driver at a rest-stop checkpoint six miles north of the Connecticut border on I95. Photograph by Mark Mirko | mmirko@courant.com (Mark Mirko / Hartford Courant)

I headed for the Rhode Island border, ham sandwich on the front seat. For a long stretch of Route 6, speed limit 50 mph, a small flatbed truck set the pace at 70. Through Brooklyn, Danielson, past I-395, I actually felt strangely nervous approaching the state line, the mission being to experience the Rhode Island National Guard stopping motorists with out-of-state plates.

I didn’t realize this was only taking place along I-95. So I crossed the border, back-dooring my way into our neighboring state, and ate my sandwich, catching crumbs in my lap.

Then I headed south, choosing back roads. It was near the Hopeville section of Griswold where I discovered a new species. That’s what I told myself, anyway, when a massive dog — with a black head and neck, and brown body — stood on the center line of a winding road and stared me down, never moving.

I got by, emerged from the woods, found I-95 and crossed the state line again, one sign reading “Discover Beautiful Rhode Island,” and another reading “All Non-Rhode Island Passenger Vehicles Next Exit.”

Military vehicles, military personnel and flashing lights everywhere. An officer in camouflage and mask approached my car, asking if I planned to stay in Rhode Island for the day.

“No,” I said. “Not for long.”

“You're just passing through?”

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I wound my way north, crossing back into Connecticut, daydreaming as I cruised I-395. At one point a state trooper pulled behind me and I realized I was speeding in the left lane. I moved over and the trooper just accelerated and passed, soon out of sight on the open road.